Cat's in the Cradle
by International08
Summary: Follows Fluff, Warm & Fuzzy, Claws, and Victory. "Cats are cats...the world over! These intelligent, peace-loving, four-footed friends- who are without prejudice, without hate, without greed- may someday teach us something." -James Mackintosh Qwilleran
1. Chapter 1

"Shhh."

He shuts his mouth, question dying on his lips.

Crooking a slim finger, she beckons him forward, into the empty space her small body leaves for him in the open doorway. He joins her silently, sliding his hand around her waist to tuck her snugly into his side.

She doesn't speak, but nods her head toward the dim room, late afternoon sunlight making the buttery striped walls glow.

Words shimmer at the edge of his vision, a rich chocolate brown script across the one cream wall, the wall Kate requested.

But a different spot draws his eyes now. His gaze settles on the little body, the arms and legs stretched out in front, the mouth slightly open, a tiny sigh escaping now and then. She's perfect.

The bed's other inhabitant is draped at her back, providing warmth and comfort and a relaxing white noise. Their heads rest close together, nearly cheek to cheek. One gray paw slung over the baby's chest, Minnie sleeps too.

"Is that-" he whispers, but his wife presses a finger to his lips.

"They're fine," she murmurs. "Just wanted you to see."

He tilts his head, feathers his lips across her temple. "They are adorable together."

She glances up and meets his eyes, moves her hand from his mouth to cover his ear, fingertips grazing the back of his neck, making him shiver.

Shifting further into his arms, she hums - the little sound of acknowledgment that he loves so much - and leans back into his chest. Her free hand rises to cradle his at her stomach, fingers smoothing the fine hair on his forearm.

Castle dips his head, lets his lips brush the column of her throat. "Come on."

She lingers a moment more, standing still even as he pulls away, tugs on her waist. But then she catches the doorknob with one hand, drawing it not quite closed. She turns to face him, his hand still resting on her hip.

"What do you want, Castle?" she asks softly, her eyes glittering in the dim hall, teeth catching on her bottom lip. "Something on your mind?"

He slides his hand up from her hip, broad palm smoothing over her curves until he reaches her shoulder. "You."

"Me?" she asks in that teasing tone, the pink tip of her tongue darting out to run lazily across her lips. The things she does to him. "I'm on your mind?"

He nods. "Always on my mind."

Laughing, she plucks his hand from her shoulder, pulls it down, twines their fingers. "Gonna start singing? Elvis or Willie Nelson?"

He purposefully quirks one side of his upper lip, and a flash of recognition crosses her face. He and the boys looked ridiculous that night, but he still remembers the way she'd looked at them, affection shining in her eyes. She grins at him. "The King, then?"

He lifts one eyebrow. "Love me tender?"

She shakes her head, but tightens her grip on him, and he lets her lead him down the hallway, down the stairs, across the loft, until she pauses in front of his bookshelves. "Office, or..."

He tugs on her hand, guides her through the doorway and past his desk into the room beyond. "Bedroom."

She lifts her arms when they reach the bed, allowing him to drag the thin shirt over her head once he's removed his own. He does like to unwrap her, and she doesn't seem to mind.

"Not up for any desk chair acrobatics today?" she asks, the words muffled as the fabric slides over her mouth. "Feeling a little old?"

He laughs, pressing his lips to her smirk as soon as he's freed her from the cotton shirt, one hand cupping her neck even as the other drops to thumb open the button on her jeans. "Never too old for this, Kate. You know that."

She hums in response, turning her head and letting him nibble his way across her jaw and down to her neck.

His fingers delve beneath the worn denim, glide over her hips as he draws the pants down her legs until she stands before him in only her underwear. "I just figured the bed would be more comfortable."

She nuzzles his cheek and pushes back on his shoulders, forcing him to sit on the edge of the mattress as she leans down to unbutton his own jeans. "You know I won't break, right?"

Her eyes meet his and he nods, still in awe of the love - the adoration - he finds in her gaze. "I know."

"And sometimes, the desk chair is better actually, because it means I can-"

He cuts her off, lunging down to hook his arms under hers, dragging her up to meet his mouth, hot and wet and right.

"I know," he repeats, when he finally breaks away, leaning back against the mattress and pulling her with him. "But I'm tired, you're tired, and as much fun as the chair might be, it's not *that* comfortable, and I'd rather not wake up with a crick in my neck if we fall asleep in there."

She purses her lips, shrugs, and scrambles over his body to stretch out against the rich fabric and fluffy pillows, blinking at him slowly, a smile curving her lips. "Bed's good too."

* * *

><p>She wakes to the soft touch of his fingertips swirling patterns on her shoulder blades, the warmth of his side against her bare chest, the sound of peaceful breathing filtering through the baby monitor on the nightstand.<p>

"We should let Minnie babysit more often," he murmurs, somehow knowing, as he always does, the exact moment she's conscious.

She hums, mouth at his bicep, and curls herself around him, knee hiking over his thighs, hand gliding across his chest.

"Cold?" he asks quietly, and when she nods, she sees his leg move, twisting and rising to jerk the covers up and into his reach though he's apparently unwilling to speed things up by moving away from her.

She snuggles closer toward him, pressing her lips to his collarbone and resting her head on his chest, ear over his heart, listening to the steady thump-thump.

There's so little time these days. He still comes with her on occasion, still perches himself at her side in front of the whiteboard, builds theory on the days when her father takes the baby.

But she misses him. Misses having him at her back when she faces the unknown. Misses his thoughtful questions when she interviews witnesses. Misses his presence in the chair beside her desk, driving her crazy with useless facts and innuendo that has somehow only worsened since she married him.

She misses him. So having him here, feeling the pound of his heart beneath her cheek, inhaling the sweet, musky scent of leftover cologne and his own skin, hearing his quiet breathing as he rests with her - she cherishes all of it.

His short nails graze her upper back, fingers rising to delve beneath her loose curls, to massage her scalp as she relaxes against him.

"Feels good," she whispers, tilting her head to look at him.

He smiles that soft smile she's only ever seen directed at her, his head pillowed on his other arm.

The lines around his mouth and eyes may have deepened since she invaded his book party six years ago, and he may not be quite as fit as he was then, but there's something about him now, something that sets her heart fluttering, something that leaves her smiling foolishly back at him.

"What is it, Kate?" he asks, his eyes bright.

She shakes her head, turns in his grasp to prop her chin on her hand, to watch him the way he always watches her. "It's nothing."

"Just happy?" he inquires, removing his hand from behind his head to brush his fingers across her cheek.

She nods, taking in the ripple of his biceps and triceps beneath his skin, the way he seems to glow these days almost as much as she does. "Just happy."

Her stomach growls then, and he laughs. "Hungry too?"

She nods, feeling her face redden, and buries her nose in the curve of his neck. He shrugs his shoulder, and she feels his head turn, feels his lips skim her temple.

"I'll fix some dinner," he whispers. "What sounds good?"

"You."

He laughs and his chest vibrates against hers and she realizes what she's said. But it's true, isn't it? And he's her husband. She's allowed to say things like that.

"Me?" he asks. She can hear the smile in his voice.

"You," she answers, shifting to graze her teeth against his clavicle. He shudders beneath her, his muscles tightening in response.

His breath comes shallow, his voice strained when he groans her name. The hand at the back of her head tightens, his arm lifting to raise her above him.

"Mrow?"

Minnie's inquisitive vocalization through the monitor prompts a giggle and the sound of smacking lips, followed by their daughter's soft coos.

The detective huffs lightly, drops her face back to Castle's neck for a moment, pressing a lingering kiss to his skin before she turns and rolls out of his grasp, leaning over the edge of the bed to pluck her underwear from the floor.

"You want to get her and I'll get dinner?" the writer asks when he sits beside her, bending down to retrieve his own boxers.

She nods. "Hot dogs? And macaroni?"

"Whatever you want," he says with a smile, inclining his head toward her to kiss her once more before he stands and saunters off. As he leans over to pick up the shirt he'd tossed away, he glances back at her.

"Enjoying the view?" he teases when she doesn't bother to hide her appreciation of his finer assets.

The detective gets to her feet, heads for the door, brushing against him despite the huge space that is their bedroom. He yelps when she pinches a cheek on her way, dropping his hand to soothe the offended spot.

She grins. "I'd enjoy it more if it came with food."

* * *

><p>The tiny human stirs against her, little legs twitching, little mouth sighing away the last vestiges of sleep.<p>

She likes this one. It naps more often - much like she herself does. It gurgles at her when she approaches, a toothless smile of greeting stretching the small cheeks.

And it likes to snuggle, likes to stay close.

So she finds herself curling around the chubby form, providing warmth and comfort.

This one isn't like the other one that visits sometimes, the bigger one with the hands that tug and the mouth that yells and the feet that stumble after her.

The tall ones are quick though, sometimes lifting her out of the way, protecting her from sticky fingers and crushing arms. Other times they pick up the tormentor, diverting its attention with squishy toys that squeak.

Her food comes from the one with the long hair who speaks in quiet tones, whose hands are always careful, who plucked her up one day and brought her home.

The broad one plays with her, teasing her with that fake bird on a string. She flattens her body, stalks the toy, leaps at it, indulging the one who rubs her belly and strokes the spot above her nose just the way she likes.

The thin one, not quite so tall, is here less often these days, stopping by to eat from time to time, occasionally with another with short hair who reminds her of the broad one. Both of these two play with her, sometimes bringing treats.

There's another, loud but kind, who stirs things up when she appears, bustling around the space. But that one, too, usually pauses for a moment, offering a pat on the head or a scratch behind the ears.

She rubs against their ankles when they come, all of them. Even the ones who don't live here nonetheless belong to her. And she wants them to know it.

Still, this one - the small, young one who turns to her with sleepy eyes, who makes those quiet, friendly noises - this one is Minnie's favorite, at least for now.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of her daughter's laughter guides her into the half-lit room. Minnie sits back on her haunches, batting with velveted paws at the little fist waving in the air.

The detective leans against the door frame for a moment, observing in amusement the affection between the two. A muffled curse wafts through the apartment as something clatters downstairs, and she glances behind her, wonders what her husband is up to this time.

When she turns back, two pairs of bright eyes regard her, both blinking slowly, one pair a rich green, the other a deep blue.

"How're my girls?" she lilts as she steps into the room and strides toward the pair. "Ready for some dinner?"

Minnie leaps to the changing table next to the crib, meowing and butting her head against Kate's shoulder when the woman leans down. She spares a moment, scratching behind the soft gray ears, eliciting a smooth purr accompanied by a wet nose nuzzling her hand.

And then pudgy pink arms reach for the detective, little mouth babbling happily at her mother's presence.

She and Castle have shared the misty-eyed moments of mamamamama and dada, the not quite words that still make her heart beat a little faster, even if she knows that the baby is just trying out sounds, that complete gibberish is as frequent as something resembling an actual word.

"Hey, baby," she coos, scooping up her daughter and snuggling the little one to her chest. "Hey, beautiful girl. Ready to go see what Daddy has for us?"

Chubby cheeks spread wide with a dimpled grin, eyes sparkling so much like her father's as she looks at Kate.

How did she get so lucky?

She curls her fingers around little knees, stroking and caressing and tickling, earning her daughter's joyous chortle.

Never fails.

Her heart swells, full to the brim, and she has to pause halfway across the room, has to give herself a moment to appreciate what her life has become.

A soft thud on the rug followed by the click of claws on the hardwood floor, and Minnie figure-eights around her feet, silky fur brushing bare ankles. She slid into a pair of Castle's boxers and one of his tee shirts, not seeing the need to dress up. Not when it's just them, not when they'll eat dinner and probably snuggle in for a mindless movie.

She nudges Minnie with her foot and the cat looks up, blinking lazily before turning and sauntering out the door, tail straight up in the air but for the curve at the end, the one like a question mark. Castle loves that, loves that the little creature's body reflects her inquisitive nature.

The detective's hair hangs loose around her shoulders and it's not long before a small hand tangles in a lock, tugging on a thick curl. A round mouth at her collarbone comes next, along with the slight scrape of those new teeth against her skin.

"Hey now," she chides gently when light suction turns into gnawing. "Supper's almost ready."

When she flicks a finger softly against the little girl's cheek, she's met with wide-eyed disbelief. It's an expression she recognizes, has seen so often, albeit usually from a certain ruggedly handsome author. She can't help but laugh.

Lifting her eyes from her daughter's face, she focuses once more on the familiar path in front of her, finds the man himself waiting at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a bright smile.

"There you are," he murmurs, and the sound of that deep voice, that soft tone - it still makes her stomach flip. "All ready?"

Kate nods her answer, watching as he bends to catch Minnie, who still has a habit of launching herself at him when she gets close enough. Full grown the cat may be, but she's no more grown up than the man holding her as she arches her neck to rub under his chin.

"It's a good thing you don't have allergies," the detective says, looking on as her husband raises the animal up to face level, rubs his nose in her belly. He laughs, shifting Minnie to the cradle of one arm against his chest and extending his other hand toward wife and daughter.

He reels them in as she descends the final step, tucking herself close to his side, her once calm baby now wriggling in her arms, leaning toward the writer.

Castle beams, meeting Kate's eyes briefly, unveiled happiness shining out of him. He turns his body, tilts to press a kiss to the little girl's forehead.

But she eludes him, ducking his lips and jerking forward so quickly that Kate has to tighten her grip on the little body to keep her from falling.

Tiny fists open and close as the baby reaches out. But not for Castle, whose face is confused, maybe even a bit offended. He laughs though, and so does Kate when their daughter gets her arms around her intended target.

Minnie gives them a long-suffering look, and the detective is a moment away from telling Castle to free the poor cat when a young voice speaks. Soft, but undeniably clear. And happy. "Kitty."

* * *

><p>"Figures," he mutters, shaking his head. "It figures that her first word would be 'kitty.' Couldn't possibly have been 'daddy,' could it?"<p>

He looks up when a sharp elbow meets his side, finds Kate watching him with barely concealed amusement. "What?"

She chuckles. "How do you think I feel? I carry her around for nine months, give her all the nourishment she needs to survive, and yet it's the cat she loves most."

Castle slides his hand to her side, up and down, caressing the smooth curves of her body. She's so beautiful - this woman who has given him everything he ever longed for, who continues to love him beyond his wildest dreams.

He leans down, presses his lips to hers in a quick, deep kiss. She groans against his mouth and he spreads his fingers wide, wishes the shirt that hangs loosely on her frame would disappear, wishes their daughter were still napping.

It surprises him sometimes, his ever-fierce need for her. Three years together, two married, and he still has that caveman urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to their bed.

But little hands push against his chest and Minnie meows and he pulls back, takes a deep breath, reins in his want. Kate's dark eyes watch him, her lips parted and pink, his own desire reflected in her gaze.

"Supper," he rasps, tearing his eyes from her and reaching down to catch the wriggling child in her arms.

The detective nods slowly, her eyes lightening as they trade, cat for kid. He cuddles his little girl tight against his chest, feathering his lips against the crown of her head. Her hands fist in the collar of his shirt, tiny fingers curling against his skin as she snuggles into the warmth of his body.

He glances up, finds Kate staring at him, expression open and unguarded. Happy. In love. With him.

How did he get so lucky?

His wife - his wife - bumps her shoulder against his, nudges him back toward the kitchen and the smell of the macaroni and hot dogs he has waiting for them.

"Hungry," Kate whines.

A sudden damp sensation has him looking down at his daughter, discovering the wet spot left on his shirt by her insistent mouth. He laughs. "You're not the only one."

"So feed us already," the detective says, arching an eyebrow when he turns his head to see her following him.

She lifts a hand to his back, presses her palm against his shoulder blade. He doesn't budge. When Minnie joins Kate's quest, butting her head against his spine, he purses his lips, holding back a grin.

He shakes his head disapprovingly. "So pushy, you Beckett women."

Autumn eyes crinkle at him in response, her voice low, tender when she speaks. "Castle women now."

His heart thuds sharply in his chest, too good, too right, too much.

He turns to face her fully, has to see all of her. His hand shoots out without his brain's conscious permission, tugging her closer, losing himself in her eyes. "Kate-"

She lifts up on her toes, presses a soft finger over his lips. When he closes his mouth, she slides her hand back, cradling his jaw as she pushes up on tiptoes, moving her mouth softly over his.

Not long enough. Never long enough.

But their daughter has begun chewing on his shirt and Minnie is restless in Kate's arms. Later.

Later he can show his wife just how much she means to him. Just how much this life they've built together means to him. He can take care of her other needs later.

For now, he can feed her, feed all of them. He tugs on her hand, wraps his arm around her, tucks her into his side. "C'mon. Time to eat."


	3. Chapter 3

Her nose twitches, catching the scent of something that smells delectable, and she wiggles in the arms that hold her, secure, but loose and comfortable at the same time. Some people grasp her too tightly, squishing her small body. Others leave her hind paws unsupported, scrabbling for purchase against their clothes, or worse, thin air.

But her humans know. They hold her just right. They make her feel safe.

The long haired one glances down at the movement, and Minnie meows, blinking her eyes slowly in return.

Strange sounds come from the mouth. _Down_. She recognizes that one and meows again.

The human drops to a crouch, sets her gently on the floor, and Minnie rubs her cheek against the soft hand in gratitude before trotting off in search of that delicious aroma.

She zeroes in on the source quickly, a pot on the counter. It doesn't take her long to calculate the distance, and she quickly leaps from the floor to one of the bar stools, bounding from that spot to the counter and weaving her way past a pitcher of water and a number of oddly-shaped instruments in a thing that spins when her tail brushes against it. Hmm, she might like to play with that spinny thing later.

But not now. Now, she's hungry and she's quickly approaching the pot from which the smell arises.

Carefully she steps forward, cautious around the surface that she once learned houses some source of great heat. Burned paws hurt, and she's been wary around that area ever since.

She gingerly sets down one front foot, finds the nearest spot safe, cool to the touch. Okay then. Suppertime.

"Minnie!"

At the booming voice, she freezes, paw extended toward the contents of the pot. Busted.

The broad one strides across the room, a strong hand lifting her body with ease and dropping her - gently - on the floor.

She looks up at the one who thwarted her plans, lets out a plaintive sound. It's humiliating, having to beg like this when she should be waited upon hand and foot. But she's hungry, and the broad one usually gives in when she acts like this.

The human stares down at her for a moment, then looks to its mate briefly. Minnie turns too, watches as the long haired one settles the little one in a special chair. And then she looks back up at the broad one, meowing again, trying to make herself sound as pitiful as possible.

The broad one sighs, then reaches over, scooping out a bit of whatever was in the pot and dropping down next to her. She takes a quick step forward and seizes the offering from the outstretched hand, giving the finger an extra lick, just to make sure she hasn't missed anything.

Well, and maybe a little in affection too. She does like this one.

She likes to curl up on the warm chest and tuck her face into the warmth of the neck. She likes the wide hands that stroke over her back. She likes the way the fingers rub under her chin.

Minnie scarfs down the treat and looks up to find kind eyes watching her. She waits patiently, certain that more of the delicious food will come her way before too long.

They always share. And the baby tends to drop things on the floor too. Minnie isn't above using that fact to her advantage.

* * *

><p>"Castle!"<p>

Uh-oh. He turns to find his wife glaring at him from few feet away. "Yes, dear?"

Her eyes narrow further. He should know better by now. But it's so much fun to goad her like this. She's so beautiful when she's angry. Sometimes he just wants to-

"What have we discussed about feeding Minnie from the table?"

"Well, technically it wasn't from the table," he begins, backpedalling quickly when she takes a rapid step toward him. "Right. Yes. I shouldn't. But Kate..."

She stands right in front of him, still glaring. But it's softer now, a little more indulgent. As if she thinks she should be giving him the evil eye but can't quite make herself do it. "But what, Castle?"

"But she, she just has this way of looking at me," he whines. "I mean, she tilts her head and she stares up at me with these big green eyes, and how am I supposed to not give her what she wants?"

She lifts a hand to his collar, and he glances down, watching as she straightens what their daughter had twisted as he held her. Her voice is quiet. "Got a soft spot for big green eyes, do you?"

His heart thumps harder in his chest. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

Her fingers trail down his chest to halt just about his waistband, scratching lightly at his belly. He feels his muscles tighten involuntarily, holds back a groan.

"So theoretically, if I did this," she says softly, tilting her head to one side and slowly blinking dark bedroom eyes at him, "you'd feed me?"

He can't- when she's like this and-

No. Man up, Castle.

"Depends," he says with a casual shrug. "Will you lick my finger too?"

Her expression - somewhere between glaring and seducing - breaks and she laughs. He grins back at her.

Considering him carefully, she nods, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips before she leans in close and breathes hotly into his ear. "I'm hungry enough. I just might."

He gulps. She doesn't move away, presses her mouth against the skin just below his ear, exhaling against him. Makes him shiver.

"Castle," she whispers - dark, beguiling. He leans toward her, can't help it. Can't stay away from her.

Her hair brushes his cheek, her nose grazing across his temple as she pushes herself until her chest meets his. Three years and she still renders him speechless with this alluring contact between their bodies.

"Castle," she repeats and he turns his head to catch her lips with his own. She kisses him back, snagging his lower lip between her teeth, releases it slowly, meets his eyes.

"Kate?" he asks, voice rough with need.

Something flashes in her eyes - want, maybe. But she schools her features, slides her hand under his shirt, her fingers branding his skin. "People food is for people, Castle. Minnie is not a person."

He gasps dramatically and the detective startles back from him. "Don't say that in front of her, Kate. That's - that's horrible."

The writer crouches down, wiggles his fingers until Minnie approaches him, rubbing her cheek against his hand.

"Don't listen to her, Minerva," he croons, scratching behind the soft gray ears. "You *are* a person. Mama's just tired and hungry and that makes her cranky. Makes her say things she doesn't mean."

It only takes a firm nudge to his hip from his wife's bare foot to send him sprawling to the floor.

Kate towers over him, fiercely beautiful and laughing as she digs her toes into his side. "Cranky?"

He shrugs, grinning up at her. Catching the arch of her foot, he tugs on her leg until he can press a kiss to her ankle. "I calls 'em like I sees 'em."

Her toes curl against his clavicle, and he lets his hand drift up her calf to tweak the back of her knee, making her giggle and jerk away from his exploratory fingers.

"Stop that," she gasps.

He narrow his eyes, reaches out to tug her toward him again, feathering his fingers over her ticklish spots. "Come down here and make me."

* * *

><p>Three years together and he still does this to her, still drives her crazy in all the best ways - the ways that make her want to strangle him, embrace him, kiss him, adore him.<p>

It's that damn smile and those blue eyes that twinkle with mischief and undisguised love. Her heart swells and she glances over at their daughter who watches in rapt attention. The little girl seems captivated by her parents' goofiness, little hands and feet still, a wide grin painted across rosy cheeks.

She looks back at her husband who still gazes up at her, his fingers inching ever closer toward the place on her lower thigh that makes her squirm. She reads the intent clearly in his eyes. Oh no.

Sweeping her foot quickly over his chest, she tucks her toes into his armpit, wiggles them until he turns on his side, tears streaming across his cheeks, his whole body trembling with unrestrained laughter.

"Truce," he pants. "Truce, Kate. I give up. You win."

She withdraws her foot, leaning down to extend a conciliatory hand.

"I always win," she reminds him. "You should know that by now."

"I really should," he agrees, groaning as he heaves himself off the floor. "Are you done abusing the man who made you supper?"

She rolls her eyes, pats him sharply on the rear, winking at him wickedly as she steps past him. "I'm done abusing the man who tried to give our supper to the cat."

He lets out a little sound of indignation, but she ignores him, pulling bowls out of the cupboard, two large and one small. She passes them to Castle, reaches up to pull down a pair of glasses and a sippy cup.

"Smells good," she offers when she turns back to him.

His pout drops away and his eyes light up, those sexy laugh lines reappearing at the corners of his mouth and eyes. "Yeah?"

She nods, sidling up to him, watching as he stirs his concoction for a moment before scooping out substantial portions into each of the bowls.

"Go sit," he says softly, handing her one of the large bowls along with the smaller one. "I'll bring you guys something to drink."

She smiles, pushing up on her toes to brush her lips across his cheek. He's a good man. Considerate. A provider. "There's some apple juice in the fridge."

He coasts his hand over her side, curls his fingers around her hip. "I'll be right there."

She glances back over her shoulder as she heads toward the table and the baby, catches him watching her, a sentimental, sappy expression on his face. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Just."

She sets down the dishes, just out of range of her daughter's reaching hands, looks back at the man balancing his own bowl, the glasses, sippy cup, and amazingly, the apple juice. "What, Rick?"

He shrugs, sends the juice sloshing in the pitcher. The corner of his mouth rises, a soft, gentle light bathing his handsome features. "I love you. All of you."

Oh.

She feels her heart flip, the sharp kick in her belly that seems to only happen when he's near.

Minnie rubs against her ankle just as their daughter lets out a happy squeal. Her family. _Their_ family.

"Love you too," she murmurs. "All of us."


	4. Chapter 4

"What in the world did you put in this?"

His head shoots up at his wife's question, can't tell by her expression whether she likes the meal or not. "Um..."

She raises an eyebrow, chuckling. "It's good. I just can't figure out exactly what you did to it."

He grins in relief. She's not exactly a picky eater, and he knows her tastes better than probably anyone else, but well, he does have a tendency to experiment in the kitchen and she's not always the biggest fan of his creations, s'morelet aside.

"Well, it's not out of a box, obviously," he says, setting his fork on the table and leaning toward her. "Homemade. Macaroni a la Castle."

Sliding the vase of partially chewed flowers on the table - Minnie's work, no doubt - out of the way so he can see his wife better, he watches as she takes another bite, can tell by the movement of her facial muscles that she must be rolling the noodles around in her mouth, extracting every flavor in search of his secrets.

She may have become a cop because of her mother's murder, but there's no doubt that she clearly possesses all the instincts of a detective. Even at home, her need for answers bleeds over into nearly everything.

"Fontina cheese?" she asks, and he nods.

"Among other things."

It's a game now, a challenge, and he can tell by the glint in her eye that she's accepted it as such. She takes another bite. "And cheddar."

He nods again.

"Paprika, but it's..." she muses, trailing off, and he lifts an eyebrow, grins when she finishes the thought. "Smoked paprika."

He purses his lips, cocks his head, taking pleasure in watching her mind at work. "It is. What else?"

"Well, salt and pepper," she offers, and he rolls his eyes. That's a given. She kicks him under the table. He yelps.

And the baby laughs. Of course.

"Outnumbered," he mutters, leaning down to rub at his shin. "Why am I always outnumbered?"

When he looks back up at his daughter, her eyes are sparkling. Those are his, no doubt, though the rest of her belongs to Kate - the high cheekbones, the nose, the hair. Not to mention the ability to wrap him around her little finger.

"Bread crumbs?"

His wife's interjection brings him back to their game, and he shakes his head, glaring at her for kicking him.

She gives him an apologetic - if not altogether sincere - look, and when something brushes softly against his calf, he knows it's her way of soothing his hurt. Still, he might be able to get a little mileage out of it.

"No bread crumbs. Crackers."

She hums in response, and his leg tingles at the gentle touch sweeping across his jean-clad skin. He deepens his glare.

"Don't think you can get away with kicking me by trying to play footsy with me," he warns. "Especially footsy in front of our daughter."

The detective's eyebrows lift. "Footsy, Castle? When have we ever played footsy?"

A smooth form grazes his ankle, and he leers at his wife. "Right now?"

"That's-" she begins, but then she laughs. Chortles, really. "That's not me, stud."

Scooting his chair back from the table, he looks down to find bright green eyes blinking up at him. "Purrrt?"

Minnie doesn't wait for an answer, just bounds up to the writer's lap, rubbing the top of her head against his arm and emitting a happy rumble from the back of her throat.

He glances up at Kate. One hand covers her mouth, but he can still see the edges of the smile she's trying so hard to hide. He chuckles. "Definitely not you."

She drops her hand then, sliding it across the table to curl her fingers around his, squeezing lightly. She winks. "Sorry to disappoint."

Shrugging, he squeezes back, then releases her hand to pet the cat's back, neck to tail in one long stroke. Minnie lets out a loud purr and begins to knead his thigh rhythmically, clearly enjoying his attentions. She nudges his hand, rough tongue emerging to rasp against his thumb.

"You've been feeding her again, haven't you?"

His eyes dart up to meet Kate's. He shakes his head, scoffing at the accusation. "Whaaat? No."

Her eyes widen disbelievingly. "You have. You're blinking too much."

"I am not."

She leans toward him. "Richard Castle. I have known you for six years. I know when you're lying."

"Only because my mother shared all my tells," he retorts without thinking, then claps his hand over his traitorous mouth.

Kate leans back in her seat, crosses her arms over her chest, nodding with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

He gulps. He *has* been sneaking Minnie little pieces of hot dog and the occasional noodle. She's a little beggar, and she's been sitting patiently at his side - silent but hopeful. And he can't stand to turn her away.

"Castle," his wife growls. "We've been through this. The vet said-"

He frowns back at her. "I know what he said. But she's fine."

Kate sighs, lifting a hand to brush her hair back from her face. Frustrated. She's frustrated with him. That's her signature move. "It's not good for her, Rick. You're-"

He bristles. "I'm what? I'm not hurting her."

The detective leans toward him, extending her hand, her voice low and appeasing. "I know you don't mean to-"

Something twists in his gut and he shoves back from the table, stands, displacing the cat who lets out a whine. His eyes drop to the gray fluff ball who's looking at him somewhat indignantly from the floor. Stupid. This is a stupid argument. But-

"Castle, wait," Kate says sharply, and his gaze snaps back to his wife. "Did you put onion in this?"

"What?" he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. Is she really going back to their silly guessing game?

"Onion," she repeats. "Did you put onion in the mac and cheese?"

He shakes his head. "No. No onion. A couple cloves of garlic."

"Rick," she begins, her face paling rapidly. He has no idea why.

But then their daughter's voice cuts in - questioning, concerned. "Kitty?"

* * *

><p>She looks first to her daughter. The tiny girl strains to the side, nearly leaning out of her high chair. Kate follows her line of sight.<p>

Minnie. Coughing under the table. But not just coughing. Hacking.

"Castle," she calls out over her shoulder. "Call Dr. Syring."

After a moment in which she hears no movement, she turns, finds him still standing there, staring down at the cat. "Castle!"

He startles, and his eyes bolt up. "What?"

"Call the vet," she repeats, softer this time.

He shakes his head. "It's just a hairball. She'll be fine. Give her a minute."

"No," she says, stepping toward him, setting one hand on his arm while her other slips into the pocket of his worn, loose jeans.

"What're you-" he starts and she looks up as her fingers close around his phone and pluck it out. Her own is probably still in their bedroom in the pocket of the pants she was wearing earlier.

"Onions, garlic, anything from that family," she tells him quietly, as calmly as she can. "It's all toxic to cats."

His face blanches, his eyes widening and then darting down to the floor where Minnie still coughs with painful sounding wheezes.

"Call Dr. Syring," she says once more, and finally he nods, dropping his eyes to the screen of his phone. "And keep an eye on both of them. I'm going to find the hydrogen peroxide."

She spares one last glance for both her daughter and Minnie. The baby babbles worriedly, little brows furrowed as she swings her legs against the chair, reaching pudgy arms toward her furry friend. Minnie remains hunched over, panting, small body shaking.

The detective turns then, strides across the apartment and through the office into their bedroom. They keep a good supply of first aid necessities in the bathroom, and she flips on the light, the warm glow illuminating the space.

But it's been months since they've needed the hydrogen peroxide. Actually no. It's been closer to two years. Not since her husband - then fiancé - decided to play with her handcuffs and scraped his wrists badly. She has no idea where the bottle might be, no idea if they even have any left.

She digs through one drawer, and then another. Not there. She moves on to the cabinet beneath his sink, shuffling around half-empty bottles of shampoo, a tube of bacon-flavored toothpaste, and a set of glow-in-the-dark golf balls.

Ah, there!

Her hand closes around the brown bottle, yanking it out and toppling a few other things in the process. A dark, viscous liquid spills out of one of the bottles. It smells oddly like molasses. But she'll worry about cleaning that up later.

"Kate?" His voice echoes through the apartment and she scrambles to her feet, heads back toward the kitchen.

She nearly runs into him when he steps into the office just as she's passing the desk. His face is white, more fearful than she's seen in a very long time.

"Kate..."

He sounds despondent - devastated - and she's just about to reach out, run her fingers through his hair, comfort him. And then she sees the limp body cradled gently in his huge hands.

Minnie.


	5. Chapter 5

Small hands skate along his jaw, soft, comforting. He pauses a moment in his pacing to glance down at the wide blue eyes, the concerned face.

She mashes his cheeks, babbling a string of not-quite words that fill his heart, calm him. Yet one more thing that Kate has given their daughter - that beautiful empathy that speaks into the hurt, knows exactly what to say.

Even though-

Oh god. Even though her only real word to date is the very reason he's standing here, his eyes flitting between his daughter's worried gaze and the bags of dog food on the shelves, the animal wellness magazines on the coffee table, the worn paperback copy of James Herriot's _All_ _Creatures_ _Great_ _and_ _Small_ on the reception desk.

He can't-

If she's-

Oh god. He'll never forgive himself.

He'd been on the phone with the vet, slumped at the table, head cradled in one hand and keeping an eye on both his daughter and the cat. The girl chattered sympathetically while the cat coughed, shivering, nothing he could do to help her.

And then they both went quiet.

His head shot up and he dropped the phone on the table, Dr. Joe Syring's voice still speaking on the other end of the line, gathering details and dispensing instructions.

"Minnie?"

He knelt on the floor, ran his hand over the soft fur, held a finger just in front of her nose. Still breathing. Oh thank goodness. Still breathing. But not moving.

"Rick?" the other man's tinny voice echoed in the silence. "Rick?"

He picked up the phone again, put it to his ear. "Rick, are you there?"

"Joe, she stopped moving. She's unconscious."

A heavy sigh answered him from the other end of the line, and then the jingle of keys. "Bring her in. Wrap her in a blanket to keep her warm and bring her in. I'll meet you there."

He scooped the tiny creature into his arms, intent on protecting her. _Like_ _he_ _should_ _have_ _been_ _doing_ _all_ _along_, he chastised himself.

"Kate?" he called for his wife. She didn't answer.

Hydrogen peroxide, she'd said. Why? Oh. To induce vomiting. To get his damn garlic out of her system.

Where did they keep the hydrogen peroxide? Their bathroom. Right.

He strode across the loft, glancing back at his daughter who watched him solemnly, silently.

As he approached the office, he heard the slam of cabinet doors and the rapid thump of footsteps.

They almost collided as he stepped through the doorway, but she stopped short, eyes on his face, her expression turning from determined to desolate as she took in the absolute heartbreak he knew he couldn't keep out of his eyes.

"Kate..."

She lifted a hand, spoke in a low voice, raw. "Castle. Is- is she-"

He shook his head. "She's still breathing. Joe said to bring her in immediately. He'll meet us there. Get me a blanket?"

And she did. Kate, as always, stepped smoothly into crisis mode, helped him wrap up their cat in a soft throw blanket from the end of their bed, and deposited the little creature back into his trembling arms.

He watched helplessly as she gathered her keys, the diaper bag, and their daughter. He followed her down to the car where she strapped them in, all of them, and drove them safely to the vet's office while he crooned softly to the bundle in his arms, offering any reassurance he could muster.

But he's the one who needed the reassurance. And somehow his daughter knows.

She gives up on squeezing and stretching his cheeks, lays her head against him instead, snuggling her face into his neck, a soft sigh escaping her little lips.

He tightens his hands around her, holds her to his chest as he paces. He needs to calm down. Has to stop worrying. Joe's the best vet around, and he's always taken good care of Minnie. Castle has no doubt he'll do so now.

But-

He can't stop picturing the little gray body wracked by shivers, can't stop his ears from ringing with the echo of her coughs.

Something else. He needs to focus on something else.

He tilts his head to get a better view of his daughter, finds blue eyes wide open, gazing off into the distance, a rhythmic sucking sound quietly filling the otherwise silent space.

She's got her thumb in her mouth. He and Kate have been trying to discourage it, but he lets it slide for now, figures they should both take whatever comfort they can at the moment.

Speaking of comfort.

Sing to her. She loves his voice, always relaxes when he tells her a story or sings her to sleep.

Yes. He can do that. It'll make him feel better, make him feel like he's helping somehow, and if the tension he feels in the small shoulders is anything to go by, he probably would be helping. She knows, always knows, when he and Kate are upset.

He hums some nonsensical tune until he can think of a good lullaby to calm them both. But his writer's mind - which spends all day delving into the morbidly psychotic - can only remember a tune he hasn't heard since Alexis was in elementary school.

And the words-

No.

A song about a cat falling off a roof and dying isn't exactly what he wants to sing to his daughter right now. Even if Señor Don Gato does come back to life as the funeral procession passes through the fish market. Still.

He rocks her gently, goes back to pacing as he tries to block out the worst-case scenarios and think of something else he can sing to her.

Glancing down at her once more, he starts to hum a few notes, watches the cobalt eyes blink sleepily as she settles further into his chest, yawning around her thumb.

Before long, her eyes are closed and she breathes deeply, little puffs of air heating his collarbone. He continues pacing, walking the length of the room and then the width, meandering in slow circles, and finally in zig zags as they wait.

He tilts his wrist, not enough to disturb his sleeping cargo, but enough to get a glimpse of the face of his watch.

An hour.

It's been an hour since Joe met them at the front door of the clinic and pulled Minnie carefully from his grasp.

An hour since Kate replaced the emptiness of his arms with their daughter, lifting a hand to brush against his cheek, over the short hair at his temple, along the curve of his ear.

"We'll be back," she whispered, feathering her lips against his, a quiet assurance in her voice and in her eyes. "All of us."

He nodded and watched her follow Syring to the treatment room, a sizeable chunk of his heart going with them.

So he croons and walks, waiting for news.

When he hears a creak behind him, he stops dead in his tracks. He can't turn around. Can't face it.

"Rick?"

Slowly, he pivots, unconsciously tightening his grasp on the little girl in his arms who lets out a tiny grunt at the movement.

His wife. Kate. Standing in the doorway, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

She looks drained, weary. But not heartbroken. And then she smiles. Oh, thank the-

"She'll be fine, Castle. She'll be fine."


	6. Chapter 6

Bright. It's too bright through her eyelids.

A warm weight rests against her side, stroking gently, carefully. She struggles, slowly forces her eyes open, surrenders to a jaw-cracking yawn.

Oh, it hurts. Her whole body is sore. She feels wrung out, used up. And she can't really move much.

The hand at her side stills and a familiar face swims into view.

"Oh, Minnie."

The face draws nearer, and she tries to lift her head against the heavy fog that she doesn't quite understand.

Finally she succeeds and manages to brush her nose against cool skin.

She pushes out a rusty purr. The broad one grins.

* * *

><p>One raspy little sound and suddenly Kate knows - she <em>knows<em> - everything is going to be okay. Castle looks like he's near tears. Relief, of course. But still.

She saw the hunch of his shoulders in the waiting room, remembers the desperation etched on his face while she drove them to Dr. Syring's clinic.

Kate tried to soothe him before she followed the veterinarian back to the treatment room. But she knows she'd left him worried, guilt-ridden. And now they need to talk.

She watches the way his hand strokes smoothly over Minnie's fur as he bends down close to the table, close to the soft gray ear to whisper what? Words of comfort, no doubt.

Her good man. Her tender-hearted man.

She's so very glad everything is okay. Or will be, within a few days.

Her daughter tugs on a lock of her hair and she glances down at the girl, leans over to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

When she looks up, Dr. Syring is watching them affectionately, a hint of longing in his warm brown eyes.

"You have grandkids, don't you?" she asks quietly, and he nods, a slow smile spreading across his weathered face.

"Two," he answers, gesturing toward a photo on the wall of a handsome young man, his wife and a pair of children, a boy and a girl. "Youngest one is about the same age as your little miss there."

"Do you get to see them often?"

The light in his eyes dims slightly. "Not as often as I'd like. They live in Alaska. My son works for a shipping company up there."

The detective nods sympathetically, cuts her eyes toward her husband and the cat who remains mostly still under his touch. She looks back at the vet.

"Would-" she begins. "I mean, don't feel obligated, I know you probably want to get home and you've already done so much."

Syring cocks his head to one side, studies her, and she decides to just spit it out. "Would you mind holding her for a few minutes so Rick and I can talk?"

He grins broadly even as Castle straightens, shoots her an inquisitive look.

The veterinarian shakes his head. "Wouldn't mind in the slightest. In fact, it would be my pleasure. I want to keep an eye on Minnie for a little while longer anyway, make sure the fluids are doing their job."

Kate nods, ignoring her husband's questioning gaze for now, and passes the baby to the older man who handles her with ease, an old pro. The young girl opens sleepy eyes, lips curling upward at the new face. So easygoing and friendly. So much like her father.

She reaches over to tug on one of Castle's belt loops, and he drops his eyes to Minnie once more. He's torn, she can tell. But she feels this burden weighing on her, sees how it slumps his shoulders as well.

"Come on," she says softly. "I just need to talk to you for a minute."

He turns weary eyes toward her. They hold none of their usual spark. But he nods, presses his palm to her lower back, and guides her back to the waiting room. The door swings shut behind them.

"Kate?" he asks once they're alone, his voice low and tense. "What's going on? She is okay, isn't she? She'll be fine?"

Oh. She rushes to lay a hand on his chest, to assuage his fears. "She'll be fine, Castle. Dr. Syring has it all under control."

"Then what?"

"I, uh," she begins, then lets out a nervous chuckle. This still isn't easy. "I need to apologize, actually."

His eyebrows furrow. "For what, Kate?"

She ducks her head, brushing her thumb against his cotton-covered chest. "For getting upset about you feeding Minnie from the table."

When she lifts her gaze to his, the guilt in his eyes strikes her like a blow to the gut. He clears his throat. "Well, looks like I deserved that, so no need to apologize."

"No," she says softly. "You didn't."

"Kate, we wouldn't even be here if I hadn't-"

She raises her hand to his mouth, pressing her fingers gently over his lips. "It wasn't your fault. Not at all, Rick. It was actually mine."

His eyebrows lift almost to his hairline, and if not for the seriousness of the situation, she'd find it both adorable and funny. But now is not the time.

"Remember when we went to that plant nursery last weekend?" she asks.

He nods against her hand and she finally removes it, dropping her fingers to twine with his, warm and familiar and right.

"And I found those tiger lilies that I absolutely loved," she reminds him.

His eyes gain back some of their light, as he no doubt recalls their visit to find a few houseplants and some fresh herbs that he'd wanted for cooking. Their daughter had stared at all the bright colors with wide, astonished eyes.

"Those were beautiful," he says softly, lifting his free hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek. She leans into his tender touch, closes her eyes to savor the affection.

"Mmm," she agrees after a moment, opening her eyes. "And poisonous."

"What?"

She frowns, squeezing his fingers. "Apparently some varieties of lilies are very poisonous to cats. When Dr. Syring checked her stomach contents, he found pieces of flower and leaf. If we hadn't brought her in when we did-"

She doesn't finish the thought. Castle laughs. Well, no. He's not laughing. She knows he finds no humor in this. But it's a chuckle, mirthless.

"I caught her chewing on those earlier today," he mutters. "I had no idea."

The detective shakes her head. "I didn't either."

His hand tightens around hers. "But then- the garlic?"

She does laugh now. "He said she would have had to have eaten quite a bit more for that to cause her any problems, though you really shouldn't feed that stuff to her. But you- you're off the hook this time."

He lifts his hand, scrubs it over his face. "I don't really feel any better for knowing that."

The detective shrugs. "I don't either, but I wanted you to know."

She pauses, waiting for him to meet her eyes once more. "And I'm sorry, Rick, for snapping at you."

He shakes his head, releases their entangled fingers to tug her closer, into the circle of his arms. "You just did what you thought was best."

She still feels bad, especially knowing the guilt he's been shouldering for the past couple of hours. But as Minnie feels better, as her husband also feels better, she will too.

And in the meantime, his tight hold on her isn't doing too bad a job of improving her mood.

"Hey," he whispers, warm breath bathing her ear. "Let's go see how Minnie's doing."

She nods against him, presses a gentle kiss to his throat. "Yes. Let's go check on our girls."


	7. Chapter 7

Minnie opens her eyes when they return, lifting her nose in the air, blinking slowly and then laying her head back down on her paws.

"How's she doing, Joe?" Castle asks quietly, stepping up next to the table and skimming his hand over the small form. She purrs under his touch, and he's grateful, so grateful to hear that sound again.

Kate comes to stand at his side, linking her arm with his and reaching down with her free hand to scratch behind the cat's ears. The purring grows louder for a moment before it subsides with a sigh.

"I think she'll be just fine," the veterinarian assures them from his spot across the table. "Just keep an eye on her for the next few days."

He lowers an eyebrow and looks at the detective. "And be careful of the lilies."

She flushes a little, and Castle wonders how long it's been since anyone chastised her that way. But she handles it as she handles everything else, with grace and humor.

"You'd think, since they were tiger lilies..."

Dr. Syring laughs, a deep belly laugh, and the baby in his arms stirs at the sound. She wakes and looks up at the mustachioed man, her eyes opening and shutting several times in succession.

Castle isn't sure how she'll react to waking up in a near stranger's arms. She's friendly, yes, happy to be held by almost anyone. But he remembers the first time she woke to Esposito's smiling face one day in the precinct breakroom.

She cried.

And they never let him live it down.

He never told Espo (and doesn't think Kate did either) that the baby was just wet and hungry. The other detective hadn't stayed long enough to find out, just passed her back to the writer with a look of wounded pride and stalked out of the room, muttering about getting back to their case.

But now she just stares at Dr. Syring, no worry in the blue eyes, just peace. The older man bounces her lightly in his arms and she giggles. Castle's heart eases at the sound, as if his daughter's laughter means that everything will truly be okay.

"Want to go see mama and daddy?" the vet asks in a rich baritone.

He steps around the table, but before he can hand her off to Kate whose arms are extended and whose lips curl upward in a smile, the little girl turns her head.

"Kitty?"

Castle looks at his wife, catches the roll of her eyes before she laughs. "Again?"

Syring turns toward them with an eyebrow raised in question. "Again?"

The writer chuckles. "So far that's all we've been able to get out of her. Just 'kitty.' No 'mama,' no 'daddy,' nothing else."

"Well, plenty of time yet," the veterinarian says with a shrug, bending down so the little girl can see Minnie better. "In the meantime, sweet pea, kitty is okay. She just needs to sleep."

Solemn eyes turn back to Syring, and then drift toward her father. He reaches toward her at the same time as Kate does, needs to feel his daughters warm weight against him. But his wife is closer and gets to her first, pulling her gently from the older man's arms and snuggling her close.

Ah, well. Not a problem.

"I have some paperwork you'll need to sign," Syring says, turning away and heading toward the other door that must lead to his office. "And then you all can head home."

Kate nods, Castle too, and as soon as the other man exits the room, the writer steps up behind his wife and slips his arms around her waist, tugging her lithe form back against his chest.

She lets out a contented little sigh that makes his heart pound faster, and he leans forward, cranes his neck to press a kiss to her cheek, another to her temple, one more to her supple lips when she turns toward him and hums.

Small hands pat his chin and he breaks from Kate's lips to drop a kiss on his daughter's forehead, delighting in the wide, toothy grin that appears on the little face.

"Gotta pay attention to both your girls, Castle," his wife murmurs, smiling as she tilts her head, pressing her lips to his cheek.

"I-" he begins, but a shaky meow interrupts his response, and he laughs.

"All my girls," he corrects, pulling one hand from Kate's belly to reach over to the table and stroke the spot just above Minnie's nose. Her eyes slide shut.

"I'm so glad-" his wife starts, and he tightens his hold on her, draws her closer against him.

"I know," he cuts her off. "I know."

She turns within the circle of his arm, tucking her face into his neck and the baby against his chest.

His heart stutters and he shuts his eyes. So lucky. He's so very lucky.

The door creaks and he opens his eyes, clenching the hand that rests at his wife's side. She pulls away from the embrace but stays within his grasp, holding their daughter with one hand and setting the other on top of his at her waist.

Dr. Syring clears his throat and strides purposefully toward the table, sets a sheaf of papers down and unhooks the fluid lines from the small gray form. Minnie lifts her head and meows at him. Her meow of greeting, friendly if still a bit strained. Castle smiles.

"All ready to go," the vet says, still watching his feline patient carefully. "If she starts to vomit, or if she doesn't seem to be using the litter box regularly, give me a call. And if you can bring her back in a week, I'd like to check on her anyway."

Castle nods his understanding when the man looks up at him. Syring smiles, his eyes drifting to the little girl in Kate's arms.

"I can't-" the writer says and then pauses. "*We* can't thank you enough, Joe. I don't know what we would have done if-"

The veterinarian shakes his head, waving a hand in dismissal. "This is what makes my job worth doing, Rick. I'm just glad we got her here in time."

The writer nods his thanks, hoping his eyes convey the depth of his gratitude to the other man. Syring's gaze studies the little group, lingering for a moment on each one before he speaks. "You have a beautiful family here. I'm happy that I can help keep it that way."

The vet leans down and turns the cat carefully, prodding at her belly gently.

"Everything okay?" Kate asks quietly, and Syring looks up with a smile.

"Seems to be," he answers. "I think she'll be fine. I just need to have one of you sign a couple of things."

Castle slides his hand slowly from his wife's waist and steps away. "Of course."

He flips through the packet quickly, signing in the proper places and then pulling his wallet from his back pocket and scrawling down his credit card information. "We'll have to get you upgraded to computers one of these days, Joe. Maybe even a credit card reader."

The vet laughs. "Been doing this for thirty-five years without computers. Why would I need them now?"

Castle laughs. "Touché."

"Hey, Rick?" Syring says, and the writer looks up from his paperwork, hearing something odd in the other man's voice. "There's one more form, but you'll need to take it with you. Bring it back."

"Oh?"

The veterinarian reaches over to snag a stapled packet of papers from the bottom of the stack. "In a few years though. She's still too young."

"Minnie?" Kate chimes in.

Syring smirks, jerks his thumb toward the child in her arms. "This one. I figure any kid whose first word is 'kitty' will make a perfect clinic intern someday. Here's an application."

* * *

><p>Kate glances into the back seat, but her daughter is already asleep in the carseat. It's late. Way past her bedtime.<p>

Her eyes light on Castle as he buckles his seatbelt one-handed, Minnie back in her blanket against his chest. He's careful not to jostle the small creature, and the detective leans over to help him in his struggle.

"I love you."

His eyes dart up as the metal slides home, his brows furrowing even as a smile blooms on his face. "I love you too, Kate."

She lifts her hand to brush her thumb across his cheekbone then down to his bottom lip. "You're such a good daddy."

A little puff of air heats her thumb and he closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, his eyes are dark and tender.

She leans forward and presses her mouth to his, soft, giving, breathing her devotion into him.

His hand abandons the seatbelt to delve into her smooth curls, cupping the back of her head and drawing her closer, holding her to him.

There's no need.

She's not going anywhere.  
><strong><br>**


	8. Chapter 8

He unstraps his daughter carefully, trying not to wake her. But, of course, she does wake, and blue eyes lock on his.

"Hey there, baby girl," he murmurs. "Gonna get you upstairs to bed, okay?"

She babbles in answer, softly spoken nonsense that continues as he pulls her into his arms and steps back from the car, nudging the door closed with his hip. She snuggles into his chest, tucking her face into his neck, dark hair tickling at his throat.

Rounding the car and heading toward Kate and Minnie who wait at the elevator, he unconsciously begins humming, glances down to see little eyes fluttering shut. His wife clicks the remote to lock the doors as he approaches and then meets his eyes with a smirk.

He stops humming, punches the button for the elevator. "What?"

She shakes her head. "Just. What you were humming."

"What was I humming?" he asks, lowering an eyebrow. He thinks, tries to recapture the melody that he's already forgotten.

Kate watches him for a moment and then hums the tune back to him. It's familiar, but he can't quite place it.

She stares at him, but finally he shrugs.

"Zelda," she says as the door opens and they step inside. "From the Ocarina of Time, if I remember correctly."

He shakes his head and leans over to press the number for their floor, the doors sliding shut. "So hot. You are so hot."

His wife laughs quietly. "Because I know the music from a video game?"

He nods and shifts his daughter so he can wrap an arm around Kate's shoulders. "For that as well as many other reasons. You're my dream woman."

She elbows him in the side, but then leans into his embrace, curling her free hand around his waist. "You're ridiculous."

He tightens his grasp on her, tilting his head to feather a kiss across her cheek. "But you love me."

"For some reason," she sighs. "I really do."

He chuckles and tugs her closer, deserts the smoothness of her cheek to nip at her earlobe. Kate startles back.

"Hey now," she chides him, but there's not even a hint of anger in her voice nor in the dark eyes she turns toward him. "At least wait until we get upstairs."

He grins at her, sees his happiness reflected in her own gaze.

The elevator opens and they step out, Castle ushering his wife through the door in front of him. For purely selfish motives, of course, which he would freely admit as he watches the sway of her hips walking toward the door to the loft.

"You coming, Castle?" she calls over her shoulder, throwing him a look that tells him she knows exactly what he's doing. Knows and doesn't mind.

He winks. "Right behind you."

* * *

><p>She'd watched for a moment as he struggled with his seatbelt, one hand still cradling the cat against his chest.<p>

"Here," she offered. "Pass the cat to me."

He nodded, handing over the little bundle, and quickly unclasped the mechanism. Kate glanced back at their sleeping daughter, but before she could say a word, Castle leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

"I'll get her," he whispered as he drew back. "Meet you at the elevator."

She nodded and slid out of the car, giving him a soft smile over the roof as he stepped out on his side. She heard his quiet words as he unstrapped the little girl, her heart swelling.

And now, as she stands in the doorway of the dim room, watches her husband tucking the covers around the baby, she feels that familiar tug, that irresistible need to be close to him, close to her daughter too. And what is she waiting for?

She crosses the room in two steps, drapes herself around him, chin at his bicep. "Hey."

He turns, the corner of his mouth quirking up and his eyes crinkling. "Hey. Minnie all settled?"

The detective nods, sliding her hand across his back, curling her fingers to let her nails rasp over the cotton of his shirt.

"Yeah," she says quietly. "I left her in our bathroom. Moved her litter box and food in there, so she'll be close. Just in case."

He sighs, brushing his thumb over their daughter's forehead, and then turns to wrap his arms fully around Kate. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired. Been a long evening."

She tilts her head to press her lips to his chest. "That it has. Ready for bed?"

"With you?" he says, leaning back to leer at her. "I'm always ready for bed with you."

She doesn't bother smacking him, just purses her lips to hold back her smile. Among the many other benefits of being married to Richard Castle, she never has to worry about someone finding her desirable. He certainly makes no secret of how he feels, not anymore.

Kate slips out of his arms for a moment, just long enough to bend over and kiss her daughter's eyelids, eliciting a soft gurgle from the tiny girl.

"Ironic, isn't it?" she asks quietly as she straightens, winding her arm around her husband's waist and leading him away from the small form.

He cocks his head. "What's ironic?"

She scoffs a little. "That it would be the lilies."

"Mmm," he hums in acknowledgment. "I see what you mean."

He pauses in the doorway, and she stops at his side, turning with him, letting him slide behind her to lean against the frame. She presses her back to his chest as his hands slip under her arms, resting warm and sure over her belly.

"You never did tell me why you picked Lilian," she murmurs, glancing back to see his face.

He grins sheepishly. "You never asked."

She shrugs. "I was exhausted and we'd argued about so many times and she was there and she needed a name. When you suggested Lilian, she opened her eyes. I figured it was meant to be."

He nods, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Besides," she continues. "I liked the name. And I was just glad you didn't want to name her something like Moon Unit or Peaches Honeyblossom."

"Well, technically Moon Unit is a boy's name," he points out, his voice so matter of fact.

She elbows him in the side. "But why Lilian?"

He tips his head to meet her eyes. "You really don't know?"

"Would I be asking if I did?"

He shrugs. "Good point. It was for Lilian Jackson Braun. She was a mystery writer."

"Oh?" the detective asks. "I've never heard of her."

She can't say she's surprised her husband would pick the name of a writer. But she's quite well-read too, and it does surprise her that she doesn't know who this woman is.

"She wrote a series of books," he tells her. "The Cat Who books. About a writer who solves mysteries. And his cats."

Kate tries to turn in his arms to face him, but he holds her tight, chuckling softly in the half-light of the bedroom. "Really, Castle?"

"Hey," he defends himself. "At least I didn't suggest naming her Yum-Yum."

"Yum-Yum?"

He leans down to press his lips to her neck, speaking against her skin. "The name of the female cat."

She rolls her eyes even as one hand rises to slide along his cheek. "Well, thank goodness for small favors."

"Anyway, I figured it was fitting," he says, turning to kiss her palm in the way that always makes her heart beat faster. "What with Minnie and all. The cat who brought us together."

She laughs, can't help noticing the rather breathless quality to the sound. "Well, maybe not brought us together. But made me see the light?"

He nods, and opens his mouth, his teeth grazing the tender flesh of her fingers. "If I ever write a memoir, that chapter will be titled 'Catalyst.' Catchy, don't you think?"

Kate groans and pushes his face away from her hand. "That's a terrible pun."

He's not deterred, simply switches tactics, dropping his mouth to the bit of her shoulder bared by her shirt and whispering between kisses. "Yet true. Anyway, you get to name the next one."

She lets out a sound that's half laugh, half moan. They really need to get out of their daughter's room if this is what's going to happen, but she can't resist the banter, the verbal foreplay. "The next chapter?"

He leaves her shoulder to presses his open mouth to her throat, tongue swiping against her skin and making her shiver before he brings his lips up to her ear. "The next kid."

"Mmm," she agrees, turning her head to brush her lips lightly over his. "Boy names this time."

His hands tighten on her for a moment, then gentle, smoothing across her belly, across the bump that's just becoming visible. She rests her hands once more on top of his, hopes for a kick.

"Four and a half months left, Kate," he murmurs. "Better get cracking."

* * *

><p><em>The<em> _end,_ _for_ _now._ _;)_


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